You're Worth It
by M. Somniator
Summary: I guess that's all you really need in life. In the end, you just need that one person that makes you feel like you're worth it. Swan Queen, Boy!Emma, slight Stable Queen.


**Regina:**

I hear screams in my head every night. It's always the same time - three a.m; he's screaming for me to stop, that he loves me, that it's going to be okay.

I didn't listen. I followed my orders.

It wasn't me. At least, that's what I said to the police, his family, his friends, my family and my friends. I wasn't sane, I don't know what was wrong with me. When I was taken away in handcuffs I was screaming with tears tearing down my face.

I didn't do it.

My orders come from a voice in my head. So I guess you could say that I've heard every diagnosis in the book. I know it's not anything in my mind and that there's nothing wrong with me but I can't help but feel like I'm not me…

And I haven't been me for what seems like forever.

I've been here since it happened. After the court decided I was guilty my lawyer managed to get me into an insane asylum instead of prison with the insanity plea. It worked out well for some reason. The Gods probably thought that I was too pretty for prison and decided that it would be better for me to spend my remaining life with crazy people.

Besides, the orange jumpsuits don't look the best.

My days here consist of strict schedules and constant babysitting. I wake up at the same time every morning, eat breakfast. Some days I see my social worker after breakfast and some days it's after lunch. In between breakfast and lunch is rec time. Mine is spent with a pad and paper in the corner of the room since the people here aren't any ones I want to get to know. It's then group whenever I don't have one on one, dinner, showers, and bed at eight in the evening.

The best days are the ones that we're allowed to go outside. It's almost like I'm not a prisoner.

"How are you today, Regina?"

She asks me this every time I come in. I've started to vary my responses since she's the type who won't keep prodding if I don't answer. My first sessions we sat in silence while she stared at me until I finally sighed and spoke about what happened.

"I'm alive."

This is my current favorite response.

"And is that good, or bad?"

She must have been in her thirties because of the slight crows feet branching from the edges of her brown doe-eyes. But the rest of her skin and hair said different. Gently curled brown locks fell over her shoulders and her makeup was always in tact.

We weren't allowed to have makeup.

I wish we were.

"It depends on the day," I reply. "Today it seems okay."

That is until the voices decide to come back.

"Who decides if it's bad or good? You or Victor?"

My thumbs twiddle in my lap. They allow us to have nail polish so mine are coated in a deep cherry red. It reminds me of blood so I start to chip at it. I don't want blood on my hands .

"Me," I pause, "He hasn't been around lately…"

She nods, her hands clasped in her lap. I was transferred to Michelle when my last social worker had had enough; I wouldn't talk because I felt like whenever I did, she judged me. And Michelle was younger, more open minded, so I guess that's why they sent me to her.

I like her more than Doris. The old bat.

Another thing I like about Michelle, she never uses a notebook. She just sits there and listens to me, not writing things down like she's noting a test subject or alien. It's like talking to a friend instead of a professional.

Her hands unclasp as she places her arms on an arm rest on each side. The chairs were comfy in her office as well. "Do you know why?"

Should I appease her or make her more confused…

"Maybe it's the medicine…"

The appeasement option won.

"Do you really think that?" She tilts her head to the side, resting it on her palm, "That it's the medicine?"

I shrug, "The doctor changed in the last time I saw him. Last month."

Michelle just nods, sitting up straight and smiling.

"You're good for today, Regina. You're making good progress."

My face scrunches slightly, my eyebrow cocked on the left side like normal. We've barely talked today, but I guess any form of speaking for me is considered 'progress.' So we both stand up and head for the door. With her hand on my shoulder, Michelle opens the door and smiles.

"We can meet after lunch tomorrow again. That way we can talk about your group session with the girls." She pats me, "Go ahead and go to the rec room. Have a nice night, sweetheart."

She's used to not getting a reply from me so I just walk out and don't look back.

These halls are like a never ending labyrinth of white tile and white walls. If it weren't for the color coated signs at the top of the walls at each corner, every patient, doctor, nurse and therapist would get lost. And if you think that the all white walls and floors are just a stigma of mental illness facilities, you're wrong.

You're probably wrong because you've never been in one.

I stop at my room to pick up my notebook. My roommate is gone which is weird considering she's always in here crying about how her Prince Charming will always find her. It's the most annoying thing I've ever had to endure.

Our charts are outside each door, though. Mine is on the left and Mary Margaret's is on the right. It's your full name, age and diagnosis.

So mine is Regina Elizabeth Mills, 20, undetermined.

My roommates is Mary Margaret Blanchard, 17, clinical depression.

Still have no idea why they put us together.

The rec room is always cliquey. People with the same diagnosis' always cluster together at different tables or board games or near the television. Needless to say, I'm one of the only people her that doesn't have a diagnosis so that leaves me out of almost every group. Mary Margaret sometimes tries to get me involved with our group from group sessions, but I normally just sit in the corner, where I am now, with my notebook and a pen that I obtain from the nurse watching the room.

We're not allowed to have sharp objects.

I never thought a ball-point pen was sharp until I heard what people had done with them in group.

"I was reading it again," I heard, "The storybook that my Mom left for me…what if my prince charming never comes?"

"He will!" Another voice.

"But I'm stuck in here!" It's Mary Margaret talking again, about her prince charming, about that damn book that her mother left her. She sleeps with it clutched in her arms every night since she can't sleep without it. Every so often they need to check the book for anything sharp she may hurt herself with, but most of the time it's clean.

"Just think, maybe it'll be like two crazy people in love!"

I roll my eyes. Sometimes I wish that the girls and guys weren't separated. The guys are in the east wing of the hospital and the girls are in the west wing. Guys are so much easier to speak to, to get to know. They don't dwell on things and aren't catty like females. I guess that's why I had so many guy friends in high school…

"Hey Regina!"

Dammit…

"Hey Regina! Over here!"

I choose to ignore her for the time being, pushing my head closer to my notebook with each passing second. She's trying to be nice, it's sweet and I appreciate it, but the last thing I want to do after my therapy session is talk with the little miss sunshine of Pleasant Valley Care Center. Being roommates is more than enough for me.

It's like in college when you first meet your roommate and you spend a ton of time together, but slowly you start to get irritated with one another and you need some distance. That's what happened to us, but we never spent every day with each other. She got here before me anyways.

My first day meeting her was actually pleasant. She smiled at me and gave me a hug while the nurses left us alone to get to know each other and to get me acclimated.

"So…why are you here?" She asked. It was a general question and I guess that's just something people ask when you're in an asylum or hospital or prison. But my answer was something that people didn't expect out of a twenty year old former ivy league college student.

So I swallowed and answered honestly, "They think I killed my boyfriend…I didn't. I pleaded insanity for a plea bargain and now I'm here…"

When I turned around, I expected her jaw to drop and to run in the opposite direction. Instead, she smiled and actually hugged me. My body was as stiff as a board as she wrapped her arms around me for the second time within five minutes but it was welcomed with a slight pat on the back from me.

I guess it was my turn to ask.

"What about you? You seem…normal."

Mary Margaret sat on her bed while I unpacked my suitcase overflowed with jeans and tee shirts. While shoving them in the dresser provided to me, she began to tell me her story.

"I've been here a year, so since I've been sixteen…my mother died when I was fourteen in a car accident. I was with her in the car. I watched her die…and I had to live with it every day. And one day, I had enough."

She showed me her wrists. There was more scar tissue than skin and my heart broke for the girl. There were multiple cuts horizontally, but three on each arm vertically. She's so young and has so much life in her eyes, but to watch her own mother die?

No one deserved that.

"I'm sorry."

"I was given another chance…to meet my prince charming."

It was cute at the time to hear a seventeen year old girl talk about her true love, and how he'll save her. Part of me now thinks she's also delusional, but then again, aren't we all?

When she comes up to me and taps me on the shoulder, I jerk slightly before looking up to her. She squats down, "How was your session, Regina?"

I shrug, "Okay."

"…How is Victor?"

"Quiet."

I think she's the only person in this whole joint that actually believes me.

And I think that's all you need. One person.

"Just drive until we see somewhere we want to be."

He smiled at me so brightly that my heart skips a beat. And I leant forward and brushed my lips against his, even though his eyes should have been on the road instead of me.

"I'll be anywhere, Regina, as long as you're there too."

It was a high school romance; high school sweethearts. He was the jock and I was the nerdy girl with a notebook at her side at all times. We met on an off chance in drama class; being paired together to write and perform a skit that ended with a kiss that was not written.

Too good to be true. It was my happy ending.

That night we ended up at an ice cream joint near the shore of Connecticut. The sign said 'hand dipped ice cream' so naturally, we had to go in. I had raspberry chocolate chip and he had cookie dough. We walked across the shoreline, letting the cold ocean nip our toes.

"How is college packing going?" He asked me, "Are you nervous?"

"Of course, Daniel," I smiled up at him, his hair blowing over his blue eyes. "But I'll be okay."

"You always are, my Queen." He nudged me playfully, wrapping his arm around my waist. "You're going to do great. You're going to achieve greatness."

A slight smile tugs at my lips as I look at the sand, kicking it up into the air with my painted toes. My mother told me that all the time. That I was going to be great. Achieve greatness. And anything less than great was punished.

Daniel didn't know this, though, so I just tried to play it off with a slight smile and a final spoonful of my ice cream.

"Have you ever thought about the future?" He asked me. He stopped walking and stared off into the ocean. It was glimmering with the night stars reflecting upon the surface, the ocean dark.

"All the time."

"I mean our future, Regina."

As I stand beside him, he takes my hand. We both stare out into the horizon, hand in hand, and everything feels alright.

"I want a future with you. I knew from our first date."

"That doesn't seem realistic, Daniel."

"But it's true," he said, turning towards me. He popped the final remnants of his cone into his mouth as he took both of my hands, "I knew. And when I graduated before you, I thought things would end but they didn't. I was miles away and we still worked. Most relationships fail. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Well of course. We just love each other." I smiled, "And love is enough."

Daniel nodded, "Our love is enough. We can get through anything."

He leaned down and brushed his lips with mine, fingering my hair and smoothing his hand through my locks. Our lips parted and we exhaled at the same time, our eyes locking with each other. And then a smile and his arms wrapped around me tightly.

Then there was a buzzing sensation on my hip that causes me to pull away.

My heart dropped.

It was past nine. And my mother was calling me.

"We need to go. Now."

**Emmett:**

Never has anyone wanted me. I bounced around in foster care until I was of legal age five years ago. My first foster home took me in when I was a baby, but I guess I got to be too much and by time I was three I was back in an orphanage. After that I was in a new home each month – some good, some bad. My favorite home was the Oppenheimer home. They were a lesbian couple with three daughters. The eldest one I played soccer with outside of their home in Massachusetts.

That was the only month I remember being happy.

It was ten years ago.

Ending up here was something that just happened. It's something I don't talk about no matter how many times people try to pull it out of me. I didn't mean to do it and I didn't know what would happen once I did it.

Maybe something is wrong with me.

At least they let us decorate our rooms. My friend slash roommate David and I managed to persuade one of the nurses to get us those glow in the dark stars to stick on our ceiling. Sometimes they fall off, but the ones above my bed always seem to stay on the longest while David's hit him in the middle of the night.

It's kind of funny to watch.

Considering I don't sleep.

So most of the time I read, or I draw in my sketch pad that my friend Neal brought to me when he visited a month ago. I haven't seen him since and I hope he's okay. But during the nights I let my mind wander. It's not the best thing sometimes, but it's the only time I get the peace and quiet my introvert needs.

The curtains are drawn in my room so the only light there is is the moonlight streaming through the edges of the curtains and the glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling. I've read all my books this week so I'll probably ask to go to the library sometime soon.

I'm a level three. Meaning I can go outside and only stay within the city limits with a nurse or therapist with me. It has its perks. They sometimes take us to go see movies too, or go shopping.

I prefer movies. Though I did get this fake red leather jacket the last time I went out shopping.

Those are the only times that the guys and girls are combined though, since there aren't enough of people on or above level three. David is still level two considering the stunt he pulled with one of the other patients.

He's a good guy, but he can get mad if you know how to push the right buttons.

He's also the only person I like right now.

Then again, he's only been here three months.

Until he came I had the room to myself. If I had the room to myself now, I would probably be pacing and then the nurse would hear me, tell me to go to bed, and then shut the door.

Once she would hear me pacing again, it would repeat all over.

I take a deep breath and sit up. It's almost six in the morning now and the alarms are going to be going off in two hours for us to wake up. I got about three hours of sleep once I finished my book.

David stirs in his sleep and rolls over, his face in my direction. I see his eyes open and he sits up as well, turning on the lamp on the bedside table between us.

"Are you alright?" His voice is groggy and raspy.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Go back to sleep." I reply, sending him a faint smile. "Thanks for asking."

"No problem." He turns off the light and falls right back asleep within two minutes. As he snores, I lay back down myself and stare at the stars.

I wish I could see the real ones…


End file.
